


Your Voice (It Brought Me Back From The Dead)

by PrettyPurpleInk



Series: You Are Not Broken [4]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Boys In Love, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gay Nate, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Humor, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Straight Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-17 02:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12355614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPurpleInk/pseuds/PrettyPurpleInk
Summary: I'll be lost until you find me, fighting on my own.I'll be lost until you come and find me here…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Paramore's "Native Tongue"; summary from Paramore's "Part II". 
> 
> Our story continues almost 5 months after HoY. *Magic sparkle noises…*

  


"Where is he, boys?"

"Who?"

"You know who," she says slowly, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, _that_ guy? Didn't he get killed by a teenager back in '92?" Jared grins. I smile at him over my shoulder.

She leans over the counter, presses her finger to the tip of his nose, lips twitching as she fights a smile to tell him, "Don't try to be funny. You're not funny." He pokes his tongue out, licking her finger, and she pulls her hand away. "Listen, it's real simple boys: I don't get my hug, you don't get your coffee. So why don't you just hand him over, and you won't have to deal with me hyped up on _four_ coffee drinks."

"Now, you listen to me, Becker, I need my coffee–"

"And I need my hug, Wesson! He gives the best hugs, and if I do not get my hug there will be hell to pay." As I move to round the counter, a hand, tipped with neatly painted green fingernails, catches my sleeve. "Where ya goin' Mr. Flawless skin?"

"To get your hug."

She beams at me, leaning in and pressing a noisey kiss to my cheek. "Go. Be safe my child."

Jared's calling her crazy in that sweet tone of voice reserved just for her, as I step out back.

  


Matt's sat at the computer, chin in his hand as he goes over an order sheet. He doesn't look up, but he must have heard me come in — he doesn't flinch when I lay my hands on the muscle of his shoulders and squeeze. I lean in long enough to kiss the corner of his jaw, and he smiles. "Busy?" I murmur, pressing my lips to the skin beneath his ear. My hands start sliding down his chest, I kiss an inch lower…

And Matt chuckles. "I know you ain't here for _that_. I mean, feel free to prove me wrong…"

I smile against his skin, press another kiss there and pull away. "Millie's here."

"Thought I heard her voice." He stands, groaning softly as he stretches his back, and as he has his arms above his head, my hand collides with his ass. His sigh is suddenly a squeak, and the sound of skin on denim almost echoes in the quiet room.

When we step out onto the shop floor, Jared's dealing with a customer, his hair falling down his neck; Millie's apparently taken the tie out and is using it to pull her own, bubblegum hair into a ponytail.

"Matt! Gimme love!" She cries, throwing her arms around him as soon as he's on the other side of the counter. Matt's arm slip around her back, squeezing. "Mmm, that's the stuff…you could sell these things, I swear." She squeezes tight, rocking them a little, and pulls away with a grin on her face, reaching for the cardboard coffee tray. The customer's gone and Jared's already taken his; he winks at her when she scowls at him. "Your caffeine, gentlemen."

"Are we celebrating?" I ask as Matt hands me a cup. "You seem especially chirpy today."

"Yes, Nate, yes we are. Because today, Mrs. Henson was given the All Clear!"

  


Millie's sunny disposition is out in full force as she sits with Matt and I on the couches in the corner — she's talking quickly, gesticulating wildly, her smile would almost look maniacal if she weren't so sweet. Mrs. Henson is Millie's favorite resident of the care home she works in. She'd been devastated the day of the diagnosis, and had come in looking for Jared, finding Matt instead; she's insisted on hugs from him since, bad news or no.

She's showing us a picture — she and an elderly woman who must be Mrs. Henson are beaming at the camera, their hair matching shades of vivid pink — when Jared comes over, backpack hanging off one shoulder, and announces his shift is over.

"Five already?" Matt muses, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll get the order finished up tomorrow. So long as it's out before four, it'll be fine. See ya, what, Thursday I guess?" Millie's got her phone tucked in her bag and has fingers hooked through Jared's belt loops by the time he's done talking.

"Thursday," Matt confirms with a lazy, raised hand of a wave, and the blond is promptly but gently being tugged toward the door.

A smile snakes onto his face as he takes slow steps backward. "Later, Nate."

"Bye, Jared. Bye, Millie."

With a bright, "Later, boys!" and Jared still walking backwards, laughing a little, they're gone.

  


Matt turns to me, looking like he's going to say something, but a woman with a decently large stack of comics calls him away to the register. I watch him chat with her, enjoying the easy smile on his face and the way he fawns over one of the woman's selections; I think, over the dull murmurs of music and quiet chatter, I hear him say something about _’Our Lord and saviour, Kelly Sue Deconnick’_. The woman's nodding enthusiastically, grinning as Matt shifts the sides of his hoodie away from his chest, showing off the gray, simply sloganed tshirt beneath. Her eyes widen as she says something, then Matt's pointing toward me with a gorgeous grin on his face. My cheeks are burning as the pair look over, but when she waves, I wave back.

It takes a few minutes to ring her up, and few more for the customers after her; I wander over when they're dealt with, and Matt's still smiling. "This shirt," he says, "ain't ever comin' off."

An image of a bare-chested Matt, fresh from the shower, skin dewy and lightly flushed, surges to the front of my mind. "I really hope that isn't true," I admit.

His smile shifts into something teasing and almost heated. "I do look damn good without a shirt on." I roll my eyes at him, but I can't deny it. "5:15; you headed out?"

"Is it? Suppose I should…" Matt reaches for my hand over the counter and I lace our fingers together. "I'll see you Friday, unless you wanted to come over and wait tonight, but I'll be asleep for most of the day tomorrow…"

He shrugs. "Might do it anyway, I'll let you know… Love you, have a good…shift."

"I love you, too, Peaches."

He breathes a noise half-sigh, half-long-suffering laugh, and meets me half-way for a chaste kiss.

I give his fingers a little squeeze before reluctantly pulling away, and taking myself to work.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is, I believe, is one of, if not _the_ longest chapters in this series (so far)!  
>  I couldn't decide on a good cut-off point that wouldn't have made the next chapter oddly short. (Oddly short. Haha! Like me!) 
> 
> Anyway. My point. Long chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

  


When I'd trudged into my apartment at six-twenty this morning, Matt had been asleep on my couch, his glasses askew as infomercials droned from the TV. He'd grinned at me, drowsy and dopey when I'd woken him, and dragged his feet along behind me to the bedroom. I'd practically fallen into bed beside him, too tired and achy to even shower.

  


Despite having set four separate alarms, I don't wake up until almost three that afternoon. I can hear the distant sound of quiet music, and the apartment smells like warm food, something earthy and spicy. My stomach rumbles appreciatively.

Matt's in the kitchen, chewing something as he's portioning a mixture of apple, cucumber, cherry tomato, and orange bell pepper into a Tupperware container. I watch him for a minute, popping a piece of apple into his mouth before turning to the stove; my stomach rumbles again as he opens the oven, that delicious spicy smell rushing out, and grabs an oven glove to pull out a pan and set it on the stovetop. He drops the glove, snaps the lid onto the container, and as he's putting it in fridge, he sees me. "Hey, gorgeous," he smiles, shutting the door. "I was just about to come gitcha. Sleep alright?"

I nod at him, feeling a smile on my own face. "What's all this?" I ask, nodding toward the occupied counters.

"You need somethin' to take to work with you, and you slept pretty late, so, I took care of it." He says with a bashful shrug.

I melt a little at his explanation, crossing the space to slip my arms around his waist, and press a kiss to his chin. "Thank you."

"’S nothin'," he mutters, looping his arms around my shoulders.

I stretch up a little, touching a soft kiss to his lips. "It isn't nothing," I argue, kissing him again. He kisses back this time. "It's very—" another kiss "—sweet of you—" and another "—and _very_ much appreciated—" another "—Thank you, Matt."

His smile is soft as he brings his lips to mine for another kiss, slow, sweet, sultry, and _just_ this side of chaste.

  


"…Y'aint heard a word, have ya?" Matt asks from across the table, an amused half smile on his face.

"No," I admit guiltily. "I'm sorry. I got distracted."

His smile slips away, a mild look of concern taking its place. "You a'right?"

"Yes," I smile. "What were you saying?"

"Nothin', just babblin'," he says dismissively, asking, "Whatcha thinkin about?" before spearing a tomato and putting it in his mouth.

"Well…I need to shower…aaaand I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining me; saving water and whatnot."

Matt grins. Chews and swallows. "I might be…"

Some 40 minutes later, Matt stands behind me as I look in the mirror at the purple-red bloom he's left low on my throat. He traces it with a gentle finger, and a self-satisfied smile on his face. The mark on his collarbone isn't nearly as big or as dark, and I just can't let that be.

  


As soon as I get to work, I wish there was a way I could have called in sick. It isn't the tasks ahead that make me feel this way, it's Matt — it's remembering the look on his face as he mumbled about not wanting to go to therapy tonight; it's thinking of how he held me that much longer before we had to part ways; it's wishing I could be there for him when he gets home.

The messages he sends some time later only exacerbate the feeling:  


— **Matt – 18:38**  
[I think I hate Dr. Lephnan. He pushes. Hate that shit.]  
[Supposed to feel better after talking to a shrink, right? Think mine's broken.]

— **Nate – 18:40**  
[Not always, Lover.]  
– **18:41**  
["Honesty can make us feel a little raw sometimes, scrubbed too hard, but the clean in the end is worth it."]  
[I'm sorry you're feeling uncomfortable x]

My phone chimes again just a few minutes later, but in the name of setting a good example, I leave it be. For the next half hour it feels like I'm carrying a noisy little lead weight in my pocket.

When the plans are drawn up and the dimensions triple checked, I'm happy enough to leave Jasmine and Rhea to do the place markers on the shop floor, and hide away in the office for a few minutes.

Settling into the desk chair, I open the messages.

— **Matt – 18:45**  
[I like your doctor, she's got poetic words of wisdom]  
[I think we should trade.]  
– **19:00**  
[Can't believe you spent last night messing with toys and getting paid for it.]  
– **19:07**  
[Scale of 1-10, how likely is it that you're gonna do that "I can't believe you" stare if I tell you what I had for dinner?]  
[It was microwave popcorn, bac'n bits]  
[And beer]  
– **19:09**  
[We're also out of tortilla chips and refried beans]

I can only imagine what I must look like, smiling at my phone the way I am.  
— **Nate – 19:16**  
[You'd hate my doctor. She pushes, but she's nice about. Almost makes you feel guilty if you don't tell her. And her office smells like lavender. It's awful.]

— **Matt – 19:16**  
[Don't understand why you hate lavender so much]  
[Did a lavender bush steal your lunch money or somethin?]

— **Nate – 19:18**  
[The flower is nice enough, but the artificial scent is horrible. And no one likes lavender, Matthew.]  
[NO ONE]  
[Have you ever gone into a store and seen them sold out of lavender anything? No you have not.]

— **Matt – 19:20**  
[I might have!]

— **Nate – 19:20**  
[You haven't.]  
[And I don't know what you mean by "we're out of tortilla chips", you ate all the chips in YOUR apartment. Mine are safe in MY apartment.]

— **Matt – 19:25**  
[…Are they? Are you sure?]

As I'm typing a reply, another message comes through:  
— **Matt – 19:26**  
[Can't believe you Matthewed me over a damn plant]  
[I think you owe me some apology beer]  
[And a whoopee cushion]

Rolling my eyes, I delete the message I'd started and begin again:  
— **Nate – 19:28**  
[I'll consider it…]  
[I better get back to work. Hope you're feeling better, baby. I love you.]

— **Matt – 19:29**  
[I am now. I love you too baby.]  
[Let me know you got home from work okay]

— **Nate – 19:30**  
[I will]  
[I love you x]

I tuck my phone into my pocket, feeling a better.

  


My shift finishes at five o'clock, Wednesday morning.

When I get home, the apartment is empty.

It takes considerably longer to fall asleep.

  


I wake a few short hours later to see a message on my phone, and I'm not sure what to make of it:  
— **Matt – 09:13**  
[This is shit. I hate everything.]

Apparently, I dozed off with my phone in my hand. When I open my eyes, it's a little after twelve. The message is still there — of course it is — and I still don't know what to make of it. Matt jokes this way sometimes, if he's feeling lazy. Maybe he's in a temporarily sour mood because things aren't going the way he'd like them to, or customers are bothering him when he's trying to focus. Or maybe he genuinely means it.

— **Nate – 12:04**  
[Did something happen, love? Are you okay?]

It takes some time for him to reply. My heart beats a little quicker as I wait, my mind supplying worrying _What if_ s, but thankfully it never verges into real panic.

When his reply comes through, I'm a little startled by the sudden sound of my phone.  
— **Matt – 12:30**  
[No]

The single word fills my stomach with ice water. He means it then. His mood has gone south — though just how far is unclear — and there's no definable reason for it. I want to go to him, be with him and hold him until he feels better, but he hasn't asked me to. If he wants to be alone, he wants to be _alone_ , and as much as I'd like to be, sometimes I'm not an exception.

My heart aches with the knowledge that there's little more I can do than send him a text and wait:  
— **Nate – 12:33**  
[I'm here if you need me. Always. I love you.]

  


As much as I want to, I don't send him another message for the rest of the day. He's told me that there are times when seeing messages come in, despite his not replying to them, feel like a good thing — it helps to know, to see proof that someone cares that he seems to have disappeared; he may not be able to meet you halfway, but seeing someone reach out for him at all helps, even if only a little.

Other times, it all feels like too much — people are just too much; someone could stand across the room from him and he'd feel that they were too close. He needs to shut the world out, he needs quiet, needs to just let his mind rest from the _What if?_ s, the _How do I?_ s, the _Why can't I?_ s, the expectations he feels people have of him, and something as simple as a text can be what sends his mind racing again.

Something tells me that today is the latter, so I leave him be.

  


In the silence of my bedroom that night, the doubts start whispering in the back of my mind: _He's just doesn't want to speak to you… He's distancing himself from you, like you tried to do to him… He's never forgiven you for that… He's going to leave you_ …

I draw a deep, deliberate breath, exhaling just as slowly. "Matt loves me," I murmur into the dark. "We're alright. He's having a bad day, but he knows I care. He's sta–"

The piercing chime beneath my pillow startles me, the bed giving a noise of protest as my entire body flinches at the sound. My hearts pounding, my breath stolen away, and my hands shake just a little as I reach for my phone.

— **Matt – 00:10**  
[love you]

  


  


"…Nate?"

"I'm sorry. You- y-you were saying…?" I stammer, blinking my dry eyes.

Dr. Avery shifts in her seat, adjusting the notepad in her lap. "I wasn't," she says gently, almost looking amused. "You seem to have something on your mind. Would you like to talk about it?"

I could tell her no, but she'll come back with _’Do you think you should try to talk about it?’_ and the answer to that is, infuriatingly, always yes. "I'm worried about Matt…" I tell her, and she listens — of course she does; she always listens — but now she sets the notepad aside.

"…I think you're doing the best thing for him," she says when the words and worries have stopped from my mouth. "Matt's told you what works for him, what he needs, and you're doing that for him. He may not be in a place to express it now, but I'm sure he's very grateful…" I nod. I'd hoped that might have been the case, and it's reassuring to hear someone else saying it — it feels as though that makes it truer, somehow.

The remainder of my session is easier. We talk about how the night shifts affected my routines, and how I coped with it. It was uncomfortable, but only temporary. We talk about how I'm coping with the added stresses of my new assistant management position. It's been a month, and the reality hasn't quite sunken in yet, besides the later finishes it doesn't feel as if much has changed. I suggest a new scented candle for her office. She laughs and tells me she'll consider it, that maybe she'll put a suggestion box in the waiting room.

As she walks me to the door, I take my phone from my pocket, intending to turn the sound back on, but that's forgotten as I notice message waiting on the screen:  
— **Matt – 18:47**  
[!] 

My heart races and sinks and my stomach pinches. He's having an anxiety attack, has been for some time, _and I wasn't there_.  
— **Nate – 19:03**  
[Im on my way. Should I call]

I hear Dr. Avery calling for me as I rush from her office, but I ignore her, phone clutched tight in my hand, waiting and hoping for Matt's reply. The screen is blank even as I climb onto the car.

He's too far gone.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for leaving that where I did, but like I said, the chapter was already pretty long! 
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon. It's…angsty and borrows heavily from my own experience…I'm not in a great place right now, so getting it finished up and posted later today (it's currently 5:13GMT, and I've yet to sleep) may not happen, no matter how much I want it to. 
> 
> Fingers crossed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning to those who need it: This chapter is essentially one big anxiety attack. If there's a chance that this would be…not good for you, _please_ skip this chapter; leave me a comment, and I'll summarise it as best I can.   
>  The last thing I want to do is hurt someone.

  


Sending Nate that message, admitting that my day's shit, especially after last night's session, was like opening the floodgates.

I thought I was feeling better after talking to Nate last night, and maybe I was, but I just _had to_ send that text earlier.

  


And now I'm sat in the storeroom, hands fisted in the hair at the back of my head, crying and shaking and struggling for breath, silently begging myself to _stop, please stop, calm down_.

Everything sounds distant and fuzzy, but I can still hear their voices. Talking about me. They've been talking about me since I got here, how there's no good reason for me to be here, how I'm doing such a shitty job. _Useless. Fucking useless. Too slow. **Not good enough.**_  
_Oh god. Breathe. Just breathe. Stop. Don't cry. You're fine. Breathe._

"Matt? Dude?" I can't tell if Troy's voice startled me; my heart is already pounding. _Too fast too hard no room for air_. "You need me to leave you alone?" I shake my head. "It's kinda hot in here, wanna go outside?" I shake my head again; _can't let people see me like this. I'm a mess. Pathetic. They're stressed too, but they aren't falling apart. Just me. What's wrong with me?_ My hands slide from my hair to the back of my neck and squeeze. "Okay. We'll chill out here for a minute… Tell me what's goin' on, man. Talk it through, right? Get the shit out… Deep breath, and tell me what's got you worked up."

I drag in a few more gasping, wobbly breaths then words are tumbling out, "I feel like I'm wasting everyone's time. I'm- I'm working too slow and I can't keep up. I'm trying sss-o hard but I can't keep up. I feel like they're better off with someone else here. But I want to be here! I want to keep trying. I'm trying so hard but I can't do it but I want- wanna keep- trying. I just- I want-" a sob punches out of my chest, shaky and breathless. "I want my effort to make a difference and it's not! There's no point me being here, but I want to. I…" I babble. _**Ridiculous.**_ "I feel like it's all my fault we're struggling. Everything was fine, but I'm too slow. I can't keep up. I want to but I can't." My hands are shaky, fingertips half numb, as I rub my face run them over my hair scrub my face again rub my neck.

The sound of my heart pounding is suddenly drowned out by ringing, an unending high pitched whine filling up my skull. _This is it. I'm gonna pass out. I'm gonna pass out and they're gonna think it's all too much for me and they're gonna fucking fire me_ –

There's pressure on my shoulder, something squeezing, and the ringing stops. It's white noise now, a muffled hissing, and a fuzzy voice, "Matt. Hey. C'mon, man. Keep breathing. C'mon, lean back…" The pressure shifts, pushing until my back hits something solid; a gasp of air jumps down my throat. "Keep goin'." I pull in another breath…and another…and another. "There y' go. Keep goin'." It feels like trying to thread a needle with numb fingers.

 _This is taking too long. You need to hurry up and get your shit togeth_ – "It's not your fault, Matt," Troy says, and I open my eyes to look at him. He's sitting next to me, looking at boxes across the room until he notices me looking at him; the he's looking at me, too. "It's really not. Deliveries are just fucked up this week. You're trying, and that's all we're asking; you're doing fine." It's quiet for a minute. The cotton in my ears is slowly dissolving, and I can tell it's quiet, now. My breathing is starting to slow down, and my face and fingertips are tingling — like pins and needles without the sharpness. "…Do you wanna go home?"

"No. Wanna keep trying."

"Okay. Just…go at your own pace, okay. Any way you look at it, this is gonna take a while, so don't burn yourself out. If you need to take five, take five…"

I nod, pull in a slow breath that only trembles a little. My chest aches with the strain of a deep breath and suddenly my body feels heavy and I'm tired. So tired. My eyes fall shut and I keep taking lung-stabbing breaths until they don't hurt so much. _Ridiculous. You're ridiculous. So much wasted time_. "I'm…I'm sorry about that."

"Nah, 's okay. Don't worry 'bout it, man. Stress effects people differently, you can't help it." He says evenly. "…Look, take your time in here, okay? Head into the office and grab some water or whatever, do what you gotta do, no rush."

I nod and open my eyes. "Okay."

Troy reaches over, gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then gets to his feet. "Need a hand up?" My arm feels not-quite-connected to my body as I reach for the hand he offers, and with a little effort I'm standing, my legs unsteady beneath me.

I feel like I'm drifting apart. Very slowly. The…the… _things_ that hold my limbs to my body are dissolving; it's painless but weird. My mind feels sluggish. It's quiet inside my head, finally. Walking is an odd sensation — there's a vague pressure beneath my feet, then there isn't, then there is again. My legs ache. I feel like I've been running. If I don't sit down, my legs might just give out.

I drop into the desk chair with a heavy breath, someone else's fingers fumbling to get my phone out of my pocket. There's a message on the screen. I have to read it a couple times before the words sink in:  
— **Nate – 12:04**  
[Did something happen, love? Are you okay?]

My hands are still shaky, but I manage a reply:  
— **Matt – 12:30**  
[No]

Another message comes through, the ache in my chest mingling with something warm, something nice as I read:  
— **Nate – 12:33**  
[I'm here if you need me. Always. I love you.]

With a little more effort, I manage to get some music playing; something soft, no vocals, something pleasant to fill my head as I wait for my body to come back to me.

  


The rest of the day passes in a sort of haze. Luckily, I get my head together well enough to drive myself home.

As soon as I'm in the apartment, the exhaustion hits. I drag myself to bed, peel off my jeans, taking my phone out my pocket, and crawl under the blankets. I'm asleep before I'm even really comfortable.

  


It's dark out when I open my eyes. My throat is almost painfully dry. I take myself to the kitchen, limbs sleep-heavy but firmly part of me again. Thank fuck. Hate that drifty shit. I down a glass of water without pause, then another. The third goes down a little slower. I fill up the glass one more time, grab a bottle of water from the fridge just in case, and take myself back to bed.

I don't sleep, I'm not really tired anymore, just… If a shrug and a sigh were an emotion, that would be how I feel now.

My mind wonders as I stare into the dark, never really thinking of anything, letting vague concepts of things come and go. It's…dull. I need something to focus on, or at least something to make my eyes tired enough that when I close them I might sleep again. I'm sure a few of the YouTube channels I'm subscribed to have uploads I haven't checked out yet.

I roll onto my back, dig my phone out from under the pillow; as soon as it's in my hand, I remember the message I never replied to. Guilt pokes at my gut. It's shooed away by that warmth again as I reread the message; I _feel_ a smile, but it doesn't show on my face.

— **Matt – 00:10**  
[love you]

  


  


When I wake up, it's light out. But I feel gray inside. Nothing is good or bad, it just _is_. When I remember that I don't have work today, something like relief flickers in my chest, but it's snuffed out by the fog. I can't even bring myself to care, not really.

I shower, because I should.

I eat, because I should.

I take my medication, because I should.

The gray doesn't seem quite so suffocating when I'm focusing on the TV. I don't know what I'm watching. I don't care. It's sounds and sights to spoon feed my mind, and that's good enough.

  


It comes out of no where.

I was fine moments ago, but now my heart is beating too fast and I can't seem to breathe deep enough.

I don't know why, but I'm scared. It's not the usual panicked _What if?_ s that make me feel jittery and make my head too loud, it's _fear_.

There's something waiting to get me. I don't know who or what or even really where it is, but I feel it looming over me, feel eyes on my back, and I swear if I turn around I'll see it, staring back at me.

I'm frozen on the sofa, my eyes slowly moving down, away from the TV screen; I might see It's reflection there.

I can't stay here. I'm not safe in this room. It'll come in through the front door and get me…maybe It's watching me through the windows. A cold spike of fear twists in my gut and I stare harder at the floor; I'll look up and see a face in the window, some dark, evil, ugly thing staring back at me…

I have to go. I can't stay here. I have to get to the bedroom. Put more space between myself and the front door. I'll go to the bedroom and shut the door and get under the blankets, and It won't hear me breathe and I'll close my eyes and I won't catch sight of It from the corner of my eye. I'll lay very still, and It might just go away.

But I have to get to the bedroom first. I have to get up, keep my eyes down, move quickly, but not too quickly, or It'll know I know It's there… My heart hammers harder at the thought of moving, but It's watching me, right now, and I need to get away from It. If I stay here, It'll get me.

So I stand and hurry to the bedroom, barely temping down the urge to run, feeling eyes on me the whole time.

I lay under the blankets, still fully dressed, trying to quieten my breathing. It doesn't help that I'm too damn hot. But I can't come out. I have to stay under here, keep quiet, keep my eyes shut, and I'll be fine. It'll go, and I'll be fine.

Keep quiet, keep my eyes shut, breathe, wait, I'll be fine.  
Keep quiet. Keep my eyes shut. Breathe. Wait. I'll be fine.  
Keep quiet.  
Keep my eyes shut.  
Breathe.  
Wait.  
I'll be fine.

But I'm not fine. I'm terrified and I can't fucking breathe. I should have turned the TV off, _how can I hear It coming if the TV's on?_ But maybe it can't hear me breathing over the noise…but I can't fucking breathe anyway. _It's going to get me. I'm alone, and It's going to get me and no will ever know. I'll just be gone_.

I'm alone and suddenly I feel lonely. I feel like the loneliness is crushing me, pressing on my chest. Crushing me. _I'll suffocate. I'll suffocate or It'll get me_.

I'm so alone. I've never felt so fucking alone in all my life.

What little breath I can take huffs out of my nose in rough sobs and tears are forcing their way from between my eyelids. _No! I can't cry!It'll hear me cry! Fuck! **So alone.**_

_I need him. I need him. Where is he? Where. Is. He?_

_He doesn't know. I have to tell him. He doesn't know. I need him, but he doesn't know. I have to tell him. Just reach under the pillow. Slow. Very slow. Can't breathe. Can't call him, can't breathe, can't let it hear me. Text him. Slowly…little movements…slow, careful, It won't see_.  
— **Matt – 18:47**  
[!]

  


I can't stop crying I can't breathe I feel empty and alone and I hear the door open and It's in here and I'm going to die.

  


"Matty…?" _Nate!_ A sob of relief tears itself from my chest. "Oh, Honey. You're okay. You're okay, Sweetheart, I'm here now. You're safe."

I can still feel It, lurking in the corner of the room, watching, waiting.

"You're okay, Matt. Keep breathing. I'm going to come sit on the bed with you, alright?" I hear a soft, distant click, then the bed is dipping under added weight. It's still watching, I can still feel It watching. Nate'll leave the room or turn around or blink and I'll be gone. "I'm going to move the blanket away from your face, Sweetheart, just a little—" _Nononononono!_ "—just so you can get some fresh air. Are you feeling hot? I'm just going to move it away from your face a bit, the rest of you will stay covered up, okay? Have you been under there long?" And as he speaks, the blanket starts to move. I can't tell where it's going, it shouldn't be moving, I'm not safe without it. My heart is beating too fast, my fingers are feeling numb and I can't tell if I'm trying to breathe or to hold my breath. _No. Please no. Please stop. Not safe_. Suddenly my face feels cold and air feels like ice in my chest. "Hi, handsome."

  


Nate's voice is gentle but sure as he dips a hand under the blanket to brush over my hair. "You're not alone anymore. You're okay. You're safe, and it's safe for you to open your eyes… Can you look at me, Matt?" I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, try to shake my head, but I'm not sure if I manage. "…It's just us here, Matt," he says after a pause. "Just you and me. You're safe, Matt. The light is on, and I'm here with you, and it's safe to open your eyes. You're safe, I promise…"

I try to open my eyes, _I try_ , but I can't. I want to apologise for not being able to do what he's asking. _It's so simple. Why can't I do it?_ I want to thank him, for being here, for dealing with a mess like me. All that comes out is a rushed gasp through my nose. And and another, and another until I'm breathing raggedly, my ribs aching.

"Shhh, sh, sh, sh, shh. You're okay," he gentles, fingertips petting my hairline. "Take your time, it's alright. Shh, nice slow breaths for me, okay? Breathe with me, baby…"

I feel his weight shift. He feels closer. His lips press to my forehead, whisper soft. Tentative fingers ease the blanket away from my ears, just enough that I can hear his breathing…deep and slow…in…and out…in…and out…even, steady…an easy, unfaltering rhythm…

  


Nate's smiling at me, gentle and warm, smoke-gray eyes soft as he watches me. "Hi," he says, voice so low he's nearly whispering.

Words stumble over my tongue in my haste, "I, I-I love- love you. So much. Love you."

"I love you, too." His hand moves slowly to my cheek, cupping it, his thumb caressing my cheekbone. "I was so worried about you."

"S-sor-sorry," I yawn. I feel to hot to be able to tell if I'm blushing. "Sorry."

He breathes a laugh, smiling wide. "It's alright. All of it." His lips tenderly brush the corner of my mouth. "You should rest."

As soon as he says it, I feel it — heavy and slow, so tired. "H-hold me?"

Nate nods. "Love to," he says, standing to take off his jeans, and slides under the covers beside me.

With my body sluggish and achy, it takes a moment longer to wiggle out of my own jeans and roll onto my other side, but Nate is patient.

He presses close as soon as I've settled, legs tangled with my mine, an arm squeezing comfortably tight, lays a sweet kiss on my neck. "Close your eyes, Matty. I've got you…" he whispers. "Sleep, love. I'm here, I'll keep you safe…"

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't think I'd be able to, but I have to admit that I'm pretty damn proud of myself for getting this posted today. 
> 
> It wasn't _easy_ to write, (I had to take a puppy picture break. {Okay, like, 5}) but I did it!


	4. Chapter 4

  


I wake in the morning to find myself draped across Matts's back; apparently he rolled onto his stomach in the night and I'd followed him. When I open my eyes, Matt's already looking at me, his face scant inches from my own. I gasp, flinching away, and he smirks at me, chuckling breathily through his nose. "Mornin'," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

The best I can offer is a lazy hum as I roll onto my back and stretch my legs, my hip aching from having been practically straddling Matt in the night. I'm too busy stretching my arms over my head, shifting my hips and arching my back to relieve the aches there, that I don't notice Matt's shifted to lay on his side until I've settled down. "Little early t' be tryna get me worked up, don't cha think?"

I raise a hand from my chest, lazily flashing my middle finger at him, an equally lazy smile on my face.

He reaches over, loosely lacing his fingers between mine and lays our hands on my stomach. "Mean li'l thing," he says fondly.

"Only to you," I tease, stretching toward him for a kiss.

I leans down to bring his lips to mine, soft, sweet and quick. "Well, don't I feel like somethin' special."

"Good; you should. You _are_ special."

"Tell me more." He presses playfully.

I'm smiling, too, but I'm very serious as I tell him, "You're wonderful — you have a beautiful heart, and terribly childish sense of humor, and you are _devastatingly_ handsome."

He's grinning at me, now, cheeks pale pink with a blush. "Aaand…?"

I roll my eyes, reaching for him, tugging lightly at his shirt; he moves closer and closer, until he's bridged over me. "Aaand," I echo, laying a hand on his chest, "you are, without a doubt, _the very best_ lover I've _ever_ had. Great sex was just a myth before you took me to bed—"

"—Just _great_?—"

"—and I am forever indebted to you, oh Glorious King of Earth-shattering Orgasms."

Matt laughs, an open sound, long and loud, his shoulders bouncing with it as he drops his head to my chest. The laugh is more than just amusement, I can tell. I can feel it. It's the sound of relief that yesterday's tears and debilitating fear are gone. It's the sound of confirmation that negativity is only temporary. It's an infectious, heartening sound and I can't help but laugh with him, enjoying his happiness.

He laughs until the sound fades to breathy, sparse, chuckles. When he lifts his head he's beaming, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. He's gorgeous. The joy on his face makes my chest ache in the best way.

Slowly, the smile melts away from his mouth — his eyes are still warm, like sapphires under candlelight. Matt draws a breath through parted lips, pauses, words caught on his tongue; he sighs to sweep them away, and tries again, "Can I…can ruin the mood for a minute?" I stay quiet and wait. "Yesterday," he says, "uh, thank you. I mean thank ya for- for bein' there…"

"Always," I promise, slipping the tips of my fingers beneath his shirt. His smile is the gentlest curve of lips, but his whole face lights up with it. "…Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Nah…later, maybe. If y' still wanna hear about it." I nod.

  


A short while later, when we're both showered, dressed and medicated, Matt calls to me from the kitchen; I'm back in the bedroom, trying to get the bed made properly. "Baby? How d'ya feel about goin' out to eat this mornin'?"

There's something _wrong_ with the pillows. The blankets won't lay over them evenly. Everything else is fine, good, right, but…if I can't make it _all_ right, I'll have to–

"Baby? Did ya hear me?" I tear my eyes from the bed at the closeness of his voice — Matt's stood just inside the room, looking at me. He must see something on my face that makes his laughing half-smile fall away. "You okay?" I turn back to the bed, feel Matt coming to stand close beside me. He's looking at it, too. Seeing the mistake. Shame curls in my gut. "’S the pillows?" Fear trickles down my spine like melting snow, despite the gentleness of his voice. "I lay on one side more th'n the other, pillows on the left get used more. They're not gonna fluff up right." I nod, slowly letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He's told me this before. A few times. "That's why they're uneven. Won't get better'n that," he continues, laying a careful, grounding, hand on my waist. I nod again. "It looks good. Ya did a good job, baby."

I feel myself relax at that — I've done the best I can and it's good enough, _it's good_. I turn my head away from the bed, smiling up at Matt instead. It's easy now. I don't need to focus on the bed anymore; it's done; _it's good_. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_." The brunet gives my waist a firm squeeze. I squirm under the sudden, tickling pressure, and he grins, laughter in his voice as he says, "That bed hardly gets made if you ain't here."

  


As I turn to set the juice bottles on the counter, Matt reaches into the pocket that holds his wallet. "What d'you think you're doing?"

His hand stills under the denim. "Look, just 'cause we're cute don't mean we get things for free…does it?"

The girl behind the counter smiles. It looks genuine. "’Fraid not."

Matt shrugs, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. "Worth a try."

"Was it? _Really_?" He shoots me a playful glare, and I take the opportunity to snatch his wallet from his hand, shoving it in my back pocket and stepping away, angling my back away from him.

"I got no problem reachin' back there 'n' gettin' it," he laughs.

From the corner of my eye, I see the cashier smiling a wide but tight-lipped smile, trying not laugh. "You paid last time we went out," I remind him, keeping my eyes on him as I take out my own wallet and take a $20 from it; I only look away from him as I hand it over.

"I like buying you nice things."

"You're not my sugar daddy, Matt."

"Could be," he mutters poutily, grabbing the bag from the counter; the cashier giggles at the same time that I roll my eyes at him.

  


"Yours looks better'n mine," Matt accuses, peering at the food in my hands.

"It's the other half of the bagel in your hand, it _isn't possible_ for mine to be better than yours." He hums, sounding unconvinced, and takes another bite of his half, grimacing childishly as he chews. "Oh, for goodness sake!" I laugh, tipping my head so far back that it almost touches the backrest of the bench we're sitting on. He's wrestling the grin off his face as I lift my head. "Do you wanna swap? Would you stop pouting if we swapped?"

" _Nnaaahw_ , you keep your superior bagel!"

"Are you _sure_? Last chance…" I offer, holding the food toward him.

He turns his head away haughtily, looking out at the grass. I shrug, sure he can see me from the corner of his eye, and take a too-big bite. He scoffs like an angsty 17 year old girl in a teen movie; I almost expect him to come out with an _’As if!’_ but he starts muttering to himself instead, just loud enough for me to hear; "Damn Canadians comin' to _my_ country, takin' all the good bagels…"

  


It's nearly nine o'clock when Matt takes my hand and tells me to pick a direction. The park's quiet despite the warm, late-spring sun — there's a small group of joggers, a few people walking dogs — it's nice. We walk slowly, wordlessly, for a while. We're both comfortable in the near-silence, listening to distant birds, hands clasped tight but not uncomfortably; I think, if I pay attention to it, I can faintly feel his pulse between my fingers.

It's a dog that breaks the silence, tugging at it's leash to sniff Matt and I. It's tail wags a slow back and forth as it's grey muzzle hovers near my shin. I greet it with a smile and a "Hello, puppy," stopping just short of petting it and glance up at the man holding the leash.

"He's friendly," I'm assured. "Going blind in his right eye, though." I frown sympathetically, bending down to offer my hand for sniffing, and slowly reach to pet him, approaching from the left. His fur's soft beneath my fingers.

"Love Rottweilers," Matt says. "Great dogs. They really don't deserve the reputation. They're protective, but they ain't mean."

"Give as good as they get," the guy agrees. After a moment, something else catches the dog's attention, and he shifts toward it; we take it as our que to part ways. "Take care, guys."

"Yeah, you, too, man." It's quiet again as we walk a few feet. "…Rottweilers are great," Matt muses. "We has one when I was kid."

"Did you?"

That's all the prompting he needs.

He tells story after story, one weaving easily into the next as the memories surface, and I listen. I listen to the words he says with a smile on his face, listen to him laugh; but for the most part, I just listen to his voice, to the charmingly lazy drawl of it — the vowels soft like sighs, the barely-there G's at the ends of words, the loose T's and hard R's… I could listen to him for hours.

  


“*”

I never thought I'd be able to do this, to be in a room with someone, to be standing in their space, so close that I'd hardly have to move at all to touch them, and just be _silent_. And _like_ it.

Silence felt like _pressure_ before, something to be fought or be crushed by, forcing me into myself, where all there is to hear is my own thoughts, like shouts echoing in my skull.

It still feels like that sometimes, when I'm alone.

Silence with other people is a different pressure. It's cold eyes on me, watching and waiting, criticising, forcing me to offer awkward, inane conversation as a distraction.

But with him, with Nate, there's none of that. There never has been. He doesn't sit and stare and wait for me to break the silence, because he doesn't need it broken. He's content in quietness, sinking into it like warm water, wrapping himself in it like a soft blanket; he makes it seem so _inviting_ , so _comfortable_ that I _want_ to join him in it, knowing we're okay there.

  


His voice is just as gentle as his silence — soft, even, lulling.

When I'm panicking, when everything is scattered and shattering, his voice becomes my focal point. The words, spoken low and deliberate, reach in and wrap around the trembling mess I am in my head, steadying me, slowly drawing the pieces back in and easing me out of my head all at once…

  


  


I don't realise that my knife has stilled on the chopping board until his does, too, don't realise I'm staring at him until he's looking back at me. There's a bemused lift to the corner of his mouth, almost a smile. "What?"

I can feel my mouth shaped into a smile as I speak. "Just… _you_."

For a moment, he just looks at me, cheeks flushed pink, dark gaze warm and affectionate, then he's carefully setting his knife aside. I set mine down, too, and Nate's arm curl around my waist. He leans into me, just a little, gently pressing his body to mine, and tilts his chin up, asking and inviting. I loop my arms around his shoulders, duck my head to meet him. His lips are soft and warm on mine, a tender, lingering touch; everything in me laxes, my body sighing voicelessly. A whisper of a breath sweeps over my lips as he presses his forehead to mine.

  


My eyes stay shut, and I know that his eyes are still closed too, enjoying the closeness, the quiet.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssooooo… I don't have anything else planned, but that _doesn't_ mean the series is over, it just that, right now, I don't have anything shouting at me to be written.  
>  Bear with me, our precious boys will be back soon!
> 
> _*This Note has been edited. I thought I had an idea, but the more I tried to make something of it, the unhappier I became with it, so I killed it :|*_


End file.
